


Now Might I Do It Pat

by DancingCrow



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Character Development, F/M, Suicidal Thoughts, nu52
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 06:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6791878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingCrow/pseuds/DancingCrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Nu52 Era; Set around the same time period as Batman #48] Harley Quinn returns to Gotham to put an end to her relationship with the Joker once and for all. What she doesn’t expect is how much he has changed in her absence…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now Might I Do It Pat

Every day, he would walk out of his apartment, always taking the stairs before making a stop at his mailbox, the only place his name could be found.

Every morning, he would walk to the butcher’s store where he worked, carving and serving meat as his long bony fingers curled around the handle of his cleaver.

Every afternoon after his shift, he would come to the park and sit on the same bench he always sat on to feed the ducks. Or the pigeons. Either didn’t matter.

Every evening he would stay at that park, waiting for everyone to leave before he took the gun out from his breastpocket. Sometimes he would hold it to his temples, or under his long chin. Other times he would press the barrel to his forehead or slide it into his mouth, teeth grinding against the metal as his tongue curiously wondered what gunpower would taste like.

And every night he would come back home, once again deciding not to kill himself, passing by his landlord to smile and maybe even laugh a little, as if the thought had never crossed his mind to begin with. Dinner was often microwaved, with a small lamp illuminating the tiny table he feasted on. And right before going to bed, he would take the gun out again to open it up and examine the single bullet sitting in the slot.

Every day was a repeat for the man the letterbox called Jack N., with every morning starting the same and every night ending the same.

But tonight, something new would emerge from the shadows.

She had been watching him for a full week, watching as the days would repeat over and over again for the man called Jack N. Only a few little details here and there would be different, but in the greater picture it was all the same.

She couldn’t help but recall a quote from her years in academia as she watched him, about how insanity was defined as repeating the same action over and over again whilst expecting a different outcome. And maybe perhaps because she knew this, it was why it was so easy for her to find him…

The mallet felt heavy in her hands. For the first time, it felt heavy for her. Perhaps with all the memories it carried… after all, he gave it to her for her birthday. One of the few nice memories she had with him. “Few” being the keyword as her palms tightened. For every few good memories there was many a bad one: Of the times she was left behind to die, of the times she was yelled at for stealing a punchline, of the times he would simply just slap her for falling out of line. And every time, she justified it: He was upset, I was in the wrong, Batman was just getting to him. The more it lingered in her mind, the more paper-thin those excuses were in retrospect.

Tonight there would be no excuses. No mercy. And certainly no forgiveness.

He was right where she wanted him: defenseless, weak, easy prey. Each click of her red-and-black heels pressing against the wooden floor was like a drum beat for an execution. Finally she would stop in front of him, lifting the mallet up high. Her body was shaking, whether out of excitement or tension she could not tell. She was finally going to do it. All that pep talk from Ivy, all the bad memories she played on repeat through her head, everything she could do to mentally prepare her to do what she would do now: To smash that smug, toothy grin into a gory mess.

But as she held that mallet high, eyes locked open so she could not miss a second of it happening… she hesitated.

Muscles tensing, she steeled herself again, ready to wipe that smirk off his face. Only… he wasn’t smirking. Or even smiling. He didn’t look mad or hysterical or even joyful. He looked… peaceful.

Peaceful… that was what bothered her the most, stalking him all that time. How peaceful he looked, how calm, how tempered… that wasn’t like him at all!

A new name and a new look wouldn’t change what he did to her. It was all probably just another trick! Yes, he always did like to play tricks, toying with your expectations. It would only take one moment of doubt before he’d strike. He was faking it!

Was he?

The mallet felt heavier.

He really was different now, wasn’t he? He didn’t even seem to show any memory of who he was. Did he forget it all? Was it all just a bad dream to him? Just… just how different could he be?

The floorboards creeked a little as the bulk of the mallet pressed against its surface.

What would he be like if he met her like this? Maybe somewhere in that crazy amnesiac head, he might feel that little spark between then again.

Of course, it wouldn’t be as exciting as the old days… but that wouldn’t be too bad. The old days were more bad than good. And maybe... if she wanted to give him a second chance... this could be the opposite.

With a deep sigh, Harley cupped her hand over her eyes and shook her head.

“What am I to do...” she mumbled, her voice deflated as the urge for revenge was muddled with doubt. Taking her hand away, she squatted down and stared at his sleeping form.

Slowly, a little smile crept on her lips, her heart fluttering a little as he watched him. He really did look peaceful… it was kind of adorable. Nibbling at her lip, she leaned in close to his face, unsure if what she wanted to do would wake him up or not. That, and if she could forgive herself for doing it if this was all a trick all along.

It took a little courage, but finally she leaned right in and gave his forehead a little kiss before standing back up.

“Sweet dreams…” she muttered softly, turning to walk away. “…puddin’.”

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thank you so much for giving this a read. This is the first time I've attempted to write about this relationship, as I was roughly inspired by the missed opportunities Batman #48 presented, particularly in contrast with the events in Harley Quinn #25. The opportunity of course being "How would Harley Quinn react to a sane, amnesiac Joker?"
> 
> And second, a little explanation to the title. I took it from the soliloquy in Act 3, Scene 3 of Hamlet; in where the title character finds his chance to murder Claudius but hesitates when he realizes he could go to heaven in the remorseful state he is in. I thought it was appropriate given the nature of the fanfic: Harley can't bring herself to kill the Joker knowing that the man sleeping before her is the man underneath the madness, a man who under different circumstances could have treated her better.


End file.
